“Okay, Madame, I sympathize with your dilemma, but you see this here.” Kaede used the pencil tip to point, “that’s the outline of a halo of a crime called sweat. That right there looks and smells like drops of beer, and I doubt you perfume yourself with that. Yes, the price tag is on it, but this gown is worn. Unfortunately, I can’t apply the refund policy to this.”

“It cost five hundred euros,” the customer shrieked loud enough for all those in the queue and roaming customers to hear while she looked about to make sure she grabbed everyone’s attention.

“I’m sorry, Kaede,” Andrea, the sales assistant who told the customer to take her complaint to one of her managers, whispered.

“No problem,” Kaede pursed her lips and waited for the woman to finish her show.

“Excuse Madame, it’s because it costs that price that I can’t put it back to sell. What you can do to get compensation is to put it up on sale on Vinted. It’s a designer dress; I’m sure it will interest someone. What I can do for you is edit ten percent for your next purchase.”

Kaede attempted to be accommodating; she knew how the hipsters trolled commerce. She wanted to avoid the assassin killer Google review.

The woman placed her index and forefinger on her forehead; one could think she went through the most stressful event of her existence, “how do-I mean how, am I supposed to do that? I pay a dress five hundred euros, and you are telling me to go and do some sort of manual labor to sell it. Get me your manager.”

Kaede shook her head, which she sunk a little as if to say who did you think you were talking to this whole time, “madame, I am a manager.”

The woman gave Kaede a sardonic grin, “well, I want someone else’s opinion.”

Joseph did not deal with customers; his job was to travel cross country to reel in investors. Da Stuff was one project among a multitude of business ventures. In a situation like this, Kaede had no choice but to call in her arch enemy.

Kaede sighed and pressed on her earpiece, “Kaede for Marco, can you come to till 1, please.”

“You called,” the sight of Marco made the customer gulp. From then onwards, all that followed was theater screen worthy. The complaining customer no longer cared about reimbursement.

The shrieks became soft and sweet as Jane Birkin replying to Gainsbourg’s the Je T’aime Moi Non-Plus. Marco whisked the woman away from the counter only to bring her back with a pile of garments that stacked up an easy 3K.

“Oh, can I have you Instagram,” she asked with a beaming smile.

“Yeah, sure,” Marco took a name card from his pocket and handed it customer wooed by the gesture.

This exchange, too, was a requirement for being hired. According to Joseph, no-one desired to buy something seen on the awkward or ugly. People not only came to the store to purchase but to seek inspiration. At Da Stuff, one came as they were with their fashion cachet. Mohawks, dreads, dyes, afros, tattoos, drag queens, trans, punks, goth loli, skaters, and many more. the store was a contemporary and urban Noah’s ark of trends.

Everyone except Kaede, who boycotted social media, had such a name card with all their media links embossed. There, clients could swoon as much as they desired over the staff’s beautiful physique. The flirtatious customer allowed Marco to hit his 95.1k follower milestone.

In her early thirties, the woman brunette turned back to Kaede, who worked on the schedules from the tills, “your colleague here is a real gentleman.”

As soon as Marco was distracted by another customer query, the woman leaned over and said, “it’s still okay, for the ten percent, I hope.”

As usual, the store’s customers showed that no saving was a small saving. Kaede scanned the items while Andrea prepared the clothes.

“Eh Kaede, can you do a twenty for madame?”

Kaede’s eyes bulged out, but Marco feigned not to see.

“Oh, you are a darling,” the obnoxious woman said while she clung to Marco’s arms.

As soon as Kaede sorted everything out and applied twenty percent instead of the initial ten, she gave Marco a glare in the stockroom’s direction. The man nodded and followed.

“Marco, I’m sorry, but you can’t give out discounts the way you like as if you were Joseph’s lost son.”

“Perhaps I am.”

Kaede cocked her eyebrow and deepened her voice to a tuba’s lowest pitch, “you are something else, and trust me, it isn’t anything nice. Also, don’t flirt with customers.”

Marco crossed his arms, “I was not flirting. Are you jealousy to see me offer the customer service you refused to give?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Kaede, you’re too strict. Do you know who that woman was?”

“No, and I don’t care; she was rude and mean. That woman did not deserve twenty percent; she can afford these things. All of the staff abuses on the discounts we can’tㅡ.”

The door to the stockroom opened, “eh, Kaede, sorry to interrupt. We need you two. The guys who’ll be catering for Friday’s venue are here. They want to see some details with you.”

Chris held the door as Kaede stepped out. When Marco came out, Chris gave him a compassionate stare and tapped a fist on his chest in a brother-I’m feeling-you-hang-in-there gesture. No matter what the woman did, Kaede always came out as the evil manager, while Marco called in the team’s sympathy.

At 4:30 PM, Kaede began to watch the clock; the tiresome day was almost over. She sighed; working with Marco proved to be more exhausting than she imagined. The man alone could make her hit burnout station for a second time.

The entrance door slid open, and Kaede turned her head to see who entered. If it were a movie, all would be in slow motion. Like many women on the shop floor, Tara’s mouth dropped open like dustpans with a lid.

Tall, the guy was at least 6.10ft, keen mafia boss Latin traits accentuated by his jet black slicked-back hair. One could think he was Marco’s older brother as he displayed the same cheeky grin to capture attention.

“Hello, sir, may I help you,” Dia the hour’s greeter said.

Kaede took another glance and wondered since when God had a DHL service. Physically the guy hit a hundred percent on the woman’s My Type barometer. Kaede shook her head in denial; these types of guys did not come without a catch.

The guy scratched his forehead and looked around, and his eyes stopped on the only person who did not have their eyes did not shoot him down with desire, “eh, Is Mars around?”

“Mars, you mean Marco Francis? Yeah, he’s in the office. Do you have an appointment?”

Whoop, there it was.

Kaede placed the most significant virtual red cross sign on his face and glued her gaze to the screen right where it belonged.

“No, but can you tell him Dominque is waiting for him,” the guy said. His gaze remained on Kaede, who under pressure made sure to keep her stare lowered and on the computer’s screen.

“Dia for Marco, there’s a person called Dominque waiting at the entrance for you. ㅡokay, I will tell him. Sir, he’s coming down in a minute.”

“Shit,” Kaede muttered as the man approached the counter. He looked at the flyers for the weekend’s instore venue. The guy advanced to gaze at the watches and jewelry exposed under the glass counter. His lips parted to speak when Marco arrived.

“Dominque.”

The two men embraced each other before proceeding to a coded handshake and knuckle clashing.

“Man, when did you arrive?”

“A couple of days ago,” Dominque said, throwing a glance at the till.

Kaede did not budge; she kept her eyes fixed on her MPOS.

“Gosh, I can’t believe, wow. You haven’t changed.” In front of Dominque, Marco reassembled a drooling fangirl. One could hear admiration oozing out of every word he said.

Dominque’s gaze traveled on the store’s decor, “you work here now? I heard that getting hired in this concept store was more laborious than attempting to get in at Louis Vuitton.”

A stifled laugh made the men turn to the till where Kaede adjusted her facial expression to a serious one to which she added a frown, which made the men doubt the origins of the muffled chuckle.

Marco resumed the conversation, “Hey, want a visit; you can try somethings on.”

“Ahem.”

The two men turned back, and Kaede lifted her head with her champion deadpan stare, “Marco, I’m finishing in fifteen minutes. You will have to take over this; why don’t you let someone else play the tour guide?”

Power struggles were not something laid back Marco was into; he was a sieve to the woman’s commands. In front of Dominque's, the manager refused to seem weak.

“Kaede, hold it. I’m just giving my friend a tour. I haven’t seen him for a long time. So cut me some slack here.”

No one ever saw Marco talk back to Kaede. Chris and Andrea held their breath as they waited for a comeback, which would have occurred if Dominque’s stare was not devouring the woman.

The man’s traits had that advantage; a frown easily destabilized people. Some described the look as being dark when, in fact, the only darkness was the color of the brow.

Kaede pursued typing, and Marco assumed the subject was closed.

“Man, I don’t want you to have any problems.”

Marco tapped on Dominque’s shoulder and winked, “don’t mind her. She can play master and commander all she wants at the end of the month; our paycheck is the same.”